Crooked
by Pretty When You're Faithful
Summary: What happens when love and hate mix together... Delving into the (very) twisted pysche of Chris Hobbs. Set in episode 122.


{A/N- POV from Chris Hobbs' point of view. Takes place during the prom, and afterwards, outside. r/r much appreciated. Thanks. It's kinda fucked up. Rated for excessive use of the "f word." Thanks to UOF (s.m) I don't own any of the characters, places, etc. represented in this story (I wish I did, though). }  
  
Fuck. It happened again stood up by Taylor. He always does this to me, you know? He always wins. Takes it like a man, each fucking thing proves his strength to me all the more. It's not fair; we all honestly expected him to be a fucking faggot. A sissy. The cocksucker was always just sitting around drawing (naked guys usually) or squealing with his little girlfriend, Daphne. Stupid bitch.  
  
He was an artist. An outcast. Yeah the fuck right. Not to me.  
  
At least people care about him, I suppose. I know his fudge packing friends would die for him. Not even hesitating. I've watched them. They drive him here. That car. Faggot. They wear it like a badge- like it's something to be proud of. But they love him, and he doesn't know how good he's got it. A sinner in heaven. Lucifer with the face of an angel.  
  
And he's always SMILING. Not in a moronic way. He knows. He's a super genius mastermind code breaker. I'm jealous. You've gotta be a dumbass to be that naïve.  
  
That smile. It hurts me. Haunts me makes me so fucking angry I could just… regurgitate. He's too perfect, and I'm always the shit on his shoe. Likes to rub my face in it. Like I said, he knows. I need a drink.  
  
Everyone's concentrating on him and his boyfriend. Disgusting. And he must be forty or something. Oohing and ahhing like there's no tomorrow. Coming. Outing. Cumming? And why can't it be me?  
  
They look so happy together, sometimes I wonder. NO. I don't wonder must not wonder because if I did that would lead to the end. Never wonder bout faggots.  
  
Why am I here? I'm here with a girl. Fucking cheerleader slut. Not enough brains to know enough to suck me off. Stupid stupid but for the best.  
  
He's smiling again. Demigod I'm mere mortal pick up my bleeding hands. Eat his shit, I'm sure it doesn't stink. God, I want him. I can barely concentrate. Fuming spontaneous combustion. Self destruction is fun, but at least I know it's what this is. What I am, what he is. A means to an end. The closest way a straight line but I'm crooked.  
  
Dad always says forget them, they'll burn in hell burn in hell where they belong, but it's hard to picture a devil with blond hair and fairy wings. Fucking fairy. It just doesn't belong. Not right. It would be as wrong as if that boyfriend of his was a virgin. Oozing sex appeal. Can anyone resist it? Could a saint? Or an angel…  
  
Fucking Justin. What right does he have to barge in here? What right to happiness? I win, but he exceeds my limits. I have football, what good is that. I'm sitting here DYING no one cares or so much as looks over, and he's having the best time of his life. You can tell. He's elated. And it hurts. Dad tried to accustom me to pain- it didn't hurt because it didn't count. This does. I always fucking want what I can't have. And what is that?  
  
I can't HELP wanting him. He's mine in away- that day in the locker room. All because of him.  
  
It's gotten to the point where there's no longer an it, and just a them. There, so HAPPY, happy twirling around in each other's arms, mocking me as they pass, round and round, over an over. Ring around the rosies pocket full of "I guess this is the ends." I'm dizzy, irritated, but giddy.  
  
The funny thing about this is that you don't get to decide. I didn't want to, but I can't help him. He doesn't understand, and I guess I can't blame him.  
  
I've been fucking around lately. Plenty of tricks and this is all a fucking joke. I'll always fool them. This is all Taylor's fault too. Had to make me realize. I'm not gay, I swear. I fucking hate the cock. Asshole.  Wake UP sunshine. The world isn't all sugar and spice. Life isn't so great, and fucking smiling all the time doesn't change anything. I bet he cries happiness.  
  
Cast me off sunshine, I'm road kill. Puppy dog eyes aren't going to help you now. Catholic priests jumping at the chance to jump your bones. Some world. Ugly duckling begging the good witch of the north to make him a swan.  It didn't happen. Cinderella didn't find her prince. I found my princess, but he hates me. Go figure. It's always him- he makes me rot a little. Smell of putrid fruit protrudes through your sense, and you can't think of anything else. I'm going to wait outside. It's too stuffy in here, all the bodies, sex, sweat. And to think- at St. James Academy! Oh my. The principal'd be fucking horrified. Or confused. Fucking? What's that? That or he's a pedophile; I've never gotten close enough to know. They trap you, dictators, mass execution for daring to be yourself. No one ever had, and that's what I admire, yet loathe, the most. "Oh darling, save the last dance for me." I can't stand this shit.   
  
Fucking queers, they followed me out.  Out of the closet perhaps? I hate this torture. Climb in the front seat but sunshine shines all the way to the other side of the car. I'm there. I can't take it take it like a man. Got a splinter. He's still smiling, turns to look towards me. Split second of failed connection but pulled the plug. There was finally something between us. Zapped him. Erotic fighting phallic object abject hate erratic in fact. He's down fell like one of those collapsible beach chairs now me too, only just tasting my own weapon. Blood in my mouth, tastes coppery then crying and screaming writhing in agony moaning "what happened," but it just comes out garbled. As does most of what I have to say. But hey- who's listening? Searing pain and tear drops. I love this love it's not fair he's still won. He's still warm. Only an angel could be beautiful when he's dying…            


End file.
